Moments in Time
by TheAllPowerfulOz
Summary: He stood there for a moment, all eyes and rumpled linen, then he was laughing, the wild high pitched cackle of a maniacal six-year-old. For sayashinigami on Deviant Art.
1. Like Father, Like

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_Two Short Fics based on THIS image found on Deviant Art. (Remove spaces)_

_http:/ sayashinigami (dot) deviantart (dot) com/art/The-idiot- 164682310?q=1&qo=1_

_She was kind enough to give me permission to write about this picture._

_THANK YOU!_

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**Like Father, Like…**

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There were terribly too few things in the world that would surprise an Assassin. Among them were traps, ducking into a rooftop garden only to find it was occupied by two guards partaking in forbidden pleasures, living past thirty… And the antics of small children. Most especially, the antics of their own children, should the Divine and Compassionate feel fit to grace them with a wife possessing patience and sturdy hips, and a moment's peace with which to tend to her.

Luckily enough, Altair had since been blessed both, and over the years three children. Two strong young boys, and a rather excitable little girl who had decided one evening to pry open the trunk in his study and play about in his lesser used things while he sat reading at his desk.

He was secretly a very indulgent father. Taking a keen interest in his children and their upbringing, affording time to roll about in the dirt with them when the notion struck, growling and snarling playfully while they laughed and climbed all over him, little fingers pulling and tugging at his robes and hair. Enjoying it just as much, if not more than they did. He even liked sitting cross legged in the floor with them explaining the nature of things, like why it was not safe to play with knives or swords until they had been taught how to handle them properly, how cloth was made, where the rain came from, what it meant when a white or black flag was hung out the tower window instead of a red one, why did Mama not dress and act like the women they'd seen around the stronghold, why Uncle Malik's face turned that funny red color whenever the seamstress batted her eyes at him.

Altair was not too engrossed in his reading to notice when his daughter had gone quiet. He looked up, turning toward her with his teeth on edge. It seemed that when she was quiet, chaos usually followed.

What he found instead of the havoc he was expecting, was that the girl had pulled a cowl from the trunk and fitted it over her head, appearing to be only a little pink mouth and rounded soft chin.

And just like that, he was on his knees in the floor, helping her to slide her arms into the too large sleeves of a spare tunic, fastening long robes, winding a red sash around her middle to hold up the monstrously long garments up, and cinching over it a broad leather belt. And lastly affixing two unarmed, but ornately decorated gauntlets over her wrists and chuckling when they covered her arm from hand to elbow. He rocked back on his heels to look at her, mouth quirked up at the corner, propping his chin on his hand.

She didn't smile, didn't speak or squeal happily like she usually did when he would set aside time just for the two of them like this, playing softer, more gentle games or walking with his index finger captured in her miniscule, but vice like grip, exploring. She just stared up at him from under the cowl like a dangerous little predator.

"Are you not pleased?"

She pushed the hood up far enough that she could see him. Smiling blindingly, amber eyes sparkling with mischief, then tugged it back down, her face settling into that severe, intent expression once more.

There was a noise in the doorway and Altair turned to see Maria standing there with an amusedly distraught look on her face. "Oh, she's pleased… Can't say I am though." She sighed and turned to walk away; "Put a cowl on them, all three of our children turn into you."

"And this is bad for what reason?"

She scoffed; "You're enough trouble on your own."

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	2. Child's Play

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**Child's Play**

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"You think you've done what…" It was not a question. Malik's voice was too dull and toneless for it to have been a question.

Altair merely continued to stare, as if the oddly glowing orb in his hands were a kind of window, or portal wherein things moved about, or was anything but a lump of metal, evil metal in Malik's opinion.

"I… I think I've found a path to immortality."

Malik's face was a weird mash of expressions at that moment. One eyebrow up in surprise, the other lying in an almost scowling crook, his lower jaw pulled inward as if in the middle of chewing. "Immortality."

"Yes."

He wanted to say how such thing would be a blasphemy, going against the natural cycle of life, but at the same time he didn't particularly believe Altair had found what he claimed to have found, and even if he did say it, Altair had a tendency to do whatever he wanted. 'Everything is Permitted' and whatnot.

He settled on a snort; "Well, let's see it then."

Altair glanced up at him from the corner of his eye, scowled, and looked down at the orb again. "Just don't mo—"

And there was a flash.

A bright, eye stabbing, horrific flash that had Malik crying out in shock, his arm going up over his eyes, stumbling backward to crash his back against the wall and slide down until he was sitting there wincing as his eyes burned and watered.

Thankfully, the light was only a flash, and it was gone as quickly as it had happened, like lightning during a storm. He blinked, the room hazy and dark, red flares dancing around in his vision.

"Altair, you _idiot!_ What have you _done!_ You've _blinded_ me!" He crawled to his feet, scrubbing his face, blinking, opening his eyes as wide as they would go, and finally sighing in relief when he realized he wasn't actually blind. After a moment his eyes settled on a tangle of white cloth and weapons in the middle of the room and his breath left in a whoosh.

Altair blinked up at him stupidly.

Malik stared back.

"Oh, this is just…" Malik slapped his hand to his forehead and raked his hair off his brow, blinking down in awe.

And Altair continued to blink up at him, stunned.

He stood there for a moment, all eyes and rumpled linen, then he was laughing, the wild high pitched cackle of a maniacal six-year-old. Dropping the orb and flapping his arms, staring down at himself.

Where not half a minute ago had stood a fully grown man, now stood a child, barely reaching Malik's waist in height, thin and stick like with nine stubby fingers, barely able to stand upright in boots much too large, and clothes that hung from his diminished frame like tents. His gauntlet and hidden blade slid from his wrists to clatter to the floor, his belts only remained upright because they were caught on the tops of his boots, and his hood sagged halfway down his chest.

He shoved the cowl back off his head and grinned up at Malik with large golden eyes and bared teeth, his voice small and high pitched; "Well, that's one way to do it."

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End file.
